THE VELVET UNDERGROUND
by aneurysm-smile
Summary: A careless kid in trouble looks to The Bebop for help. As if they've ever been able to help themselves. Laughs, intrigue, drama, cool, and rock and roll. This is the velvet underground. Please read and review.
1. CH 1: Sunday Morning

THE VELVET UNDERGROUND - A Cowboy Bebop Fanfic. By Pol De Martini. Inspired, in format, by the work of Agent Orange.  
  
Chapter 1: Sunday Morning  
  
Sunday morning, brings the dawn in  
It's just a restless feeling,, by my side  
Watch out, the world's behind you  
  
The Bebop. What's all the fuss about? Big Shot never shuts up about it. Every loser on the street can't stop talking about this supposedly kick ass ship and it's savage bounty huntering crew. What a bunch of crap. A 9 foot tall jazzer with big green hair, a cyborg ex-cop, the hottest temptress in the universe, and some hacker outlaw from Earth? Sounds like the circus sideshow to me. Bounty hunters truly are the scum of the universe.  
  
Eh, nevermind. That would be me (the scum of the universe.) I'm Simon. To be honest these guys are sort of like my heroes. All I ever hear is about how they are so skilled and have so many connections, They chase down some of the most choice bounties in the Solar System, only to completely fuck it up in the end and come home poor every time. It's hilarious. I've always wanted to be a failure that people talk about...I mean, I'd imagine it's pretty tough to be as much of a failure as I am, but it's gonna be nearly impossible to fail so hard and so often that you become popular. Popular, at least in the underground. Everyone hopes that the Bebop crew will come for them, cause it'll just end up being a lot of laughs and an inevitable triumph. I hope they come for me.  
  
Like I said the name is Simon. I have a friend named Orange who I call Orange because the collar around his white dress shirt is always Orange with sweat. I think his real name is Stewart. Anyway he's a computer smartypants and he owed me a few woolongs so I got him to contact the Bebop for me.  
  
"Um, we received your E-mail," announced a gruff voice. This had to be the ex-cop. He's probably like 5 foot 3 and balding, and just uses the tough guy voice to compensate. Hilarious. "So what exactly do you know?"  
  
I gulped slowly and glanced at this guy's name, written sloppily on a stray napkin. Another source had done some digging and come up with the name "Jet Black." The Bebop is such a fucking joke. In an even more gruff, more compensating tone I bellowed, "Don't worry about the small things, Mr. Black. All I know is that I'm the man with the inside info around here. I've got the bounties they're afraid to put on Big Shot. The real stuff. Millions of woolongs that you'll never see unless you talk to me, cowboy. So you wanna know more?"  
  
I heard the aural equivalent of a shrug through my receiver. Not only of the shoulders, but of the whole body. But especially the stomach. Then I heard the phone seem to drop, only to be fumbled and picked up by another individual.  
  
"You know what asshole, I might be a stunning work of art, a billion times hotter than anything in your pathetic dreams, but I haven't tasted a family size bag of Sour Cream and Onion Ruffles in like three fucking years. So I'm sick of this bullshit. If you've got some bounties for us, then fire away. But if you're just putting on mommy's heels and strutting around the block, then don't bother us. No, don't bother me."  
  
"Nonsense, miss." So this was the temptress. "I've got some sweet stuff for your crew. Special for you. I like your style," I whimpered, beginning to lose my nerve. This really was the Bebop.  
  
"If you're lying, I'm going to have your shriveling little nuts for brunch." Suddenly my nerve flooded back.  
  
"Is that a promise, my dear? No no, seriously, I want to help you guys out. I'm sending my whereabouts by E-mail. I think I'm pretty near you guys. I'll meet you at 9 sharp, alright? I've got a sweet little number for you and your boys. Woolongs galore. So I'll meet you at..."  
  
I listened closer. She had hung up on me. What a shrew, man. My kind of girl. I hung up the phone, an old rotary piece of shit and picked up my guitar case. I began to smirk as I fit my shades on. "Yeah...this is gonna be fun," I whispered out loud. "Wish me luck, Lou. It's Sunday morning, after all." Somewhere, up in the mighty heavens, Lou Reed probably smirked also. This fucking kid was about to get himself in a whole lot of trouble. 


	2. CH 2: I'm Waiting for the Man

Chapter 2: I'm Waiting for the Man  
  
26 dollars in my hand  
Up to Lexington,, 125  
Feelin' sick and dirty  
More dead than alive  
  
The address I gave them was a dive bar called Dive Bar. I'm serious. I guess things on Ganymede have simply evolved past irony or self-deprecating humor into outright description. It was a shit hole. From the alleyway outside you could smell the place, something like rotten mayonnaise and dehydrated urine. I got a few gigs there thanks to the bartender who, I eventually discovered, was also the bar's "owner." He lived in a flat upstairs and basically drank down any potential profits he made. He allowed me to play there a few nights cause he could save on his energy bill by not having to turn the radio on or something. It was a real shit hole.  
  
One night he offered me a few shots after I played some song he lost his virginity to like 50 years ago, but I declined and told him I'm only 18 years old. I guess he was drunk but probably not, cause he got pretty pissed and told me to leave and never come back. Probably due to me not actually being a customer, but meh. Since when do root beers not count on the tab?  
  
So this all pretty much means that in order to actually meet my Bebopian in this bar I'd have to go "incognito." Therefore, sunglasses all the way, even at a pitch black 9 pm. Totally inconspicuous, of course, but I knew quite well that if there would actually be anyone in this place at all, they'd be blind dumb drunk anyway. So fuck it. I walked in at quarter to 9 and sat in a corner booth. A waitress (I didn't remember them having waitresses) asked if I wanted anything. She actually said "What'll it be?" in one long syllable. "Nothin."  
  
"Gah, whatever kid. You better tip me anyways." I smiled and she walked to the bar and ordered herself a gin and tonic. Dive Bar.  
  
A few minutes later I heard a garbage can collapse outside, signifying the arrival of a bar-hopper or some sort of already intoxicated street urchin. He gently banged his forehead on the entranceway as he came in, but he didn't' say anything or even wince in pain. He just made a beeline for an empty bar stool. He said a few drink names and soon he was downing them. I waited, and just stared. This guy was freakishly tall with the most outrageous big hair. Like the standard 1970's Croatian basketball player. And he was as skinny as he was drunk. What the hell was I doing here? I closed my eyes and leaned back on the ripped cushions that were tearing my body to shreds. I leaned back further...  
  
I woke up at about 2 am. Mr. Bartender, still clearly unaware of my true identity, belched out "Last call," or something to that affect.. I had fallen asleep. Wearing sunglasses at night is not cool, it does not help out in a disguise, it just makes you fall asleep more easily. Go figure. In the blink of my sunken eye the bartender was on me.  
  
"You'd better get your buddy out of here. I'm closin' the hell up." He was either screaming or whispering, I don't think he was sure of which tone commit to.  
  
"Um..." Could I use my natural voice with this guy? Would he remember me? Would he take me by the throat in his drunken daze and launch me head first into hundreds of bottles of alcohol? Would he then light a cigar and toss his Zippo at me, igniting the entire bar and ending my life in a blaze of glory? Probably not.  
  
"Um, I don't know that guy. Sorry." I didn't even use an accent. "Doesn't matter to me. You two are the only ones here," Suddenly he pulled a pocket blade from his bartending apron sort of contraption. "Just do it, kid."  
  
"Fuck, whatever." I didn't need to get cut by this wasted asshole at 2 am on a Monday morning in a smelly bar with gum sticking to my shoe. And in a rather uncomfortable booth nonetheless. I slowly rose from my seat and took some baby steps toward a slender blue heap of clothing passed out on the floor. With green hair. "Green hair?" 


	3. CH 3: Beginning to See the Light

Chapter 3: Beginning to See the Light  
  
Some people work very hard  
  
But still they never get it right  
  
Well, I'm beginning to see the light  
  
"Give me all your fucking woolongs!" Why was I yelling? Shut the hell up Simon.  
  
"You again? What do you want." It should technically be a question, but it sounded more like a simple statement. But how did he know it was me? Our last conversation was audio only. Now I was on the jolly green-haired giant's Comm and I could see Mr. Black and he could see me. He WAS bald, I knew it.  
  
"I've got your, erm, "partner" here. And I know you want him back. So I'll trade him for a bag of cash, old man," Ouch, I knew that hurt him. His facial expression didn't change but I could see tiny aneurysms popping in his eyes. I wasn't really trying to piss these guys off, or even get a ransom for this drunken guy lying down in the alleyway beside me. I guess I was just trying to act cool. You know, like a cowboy or something.  
  
"I'll totally blow your man away," I shouted, brandishing my crappy ancient pistol. Right out of the old west. I'd never actually fired it, but I was pretty sure that it was loaded. I guess. "So we got a deal or what?"  
  
"...No." And the screen went blank. Now he had hung up on me too. These guys must hate each other. I could pull this rusty trigger and shoot this hairball in the face, and no one would say anyth...  
  
I felt cold steel on my left temple. I didn't dare attempt to turn around. Probably a mugger, right? "Wrong," answered this person who was obviously not really a mugger. It was a woman.  
  
"This is wrong, little guy. You are doing a bad thing here. That's my partner there. I don't give a shit about him but he owes me some smokes so put your cap gun down." I wasn't aware of such an intense level of sarcasm. She was trying to convince me that she didn't care about this guy but it was obvious that she did. He was her partner. So that made her...  
  
"Faye Valentine. THE Faye Valentine. The official mistress of the Bebop and the most feared presence in casinos throughout the galaxy. You owe everyone, big time. And for a bounty hunter, you sure have a lot of goddamn bounties on your head."  
  
I could sense that my little soliloquy was quite entertaining for Miss Valentine. I ever so slowly turned around until I was facing her...and man, what a face. She was wearing the dazzling allure of the Vegas strip as some sort of mascara; fun, sex, glamour, but always the chance for big trouble and usually, even bigger disappointment.  
  
"You're in some big trouble yourself, shrimpo." She was smirking. Did she like me? "And take those tacky fuckin' shades off." Doubtful. I removed them and, with her non-gun holding hand, she swiped them from me and casually yet quite seductively applied them to her own head. "Now that's better." Another smirk. Then, from some place...a...growl?  
  
Her stomach. "On the ground! I don't have time to fuck around anymore." Her eyes were suddenly overcome with sharp aggression. I kept liking her more and more. I jumped down quickly and lied on my stomach. She declared:  
  
"You say that I've got a bunch of bounties on my head, huh? Well guess what you little fuck stain, I suppose you win, cause you only have one on you. Courtesy of a local acquaintance of ours named Stewart. Ever heard of him? You are Simon Morrison Cale, Worth 50k. I've had bigger and better, and to be quite honest, cuter bounties than you. But I'm hungry, so even pocket change scum like you will have to do."  
  
"You're wrong, Miss Valentine. I'm the scum of the entire universe." She had me. The Bebop had me. Is this really what I wanted? As we waited for the big mother ship, the Bebop herself, Faye Valentine quit joking around with me. She just looked hungry and tired. And pure exhaustion tends to dull humor. I lied there next to her still comatose partner. Her gun barrel was on the back of my head. It was steady. She wasn't even smoking a cigarette.  
  
It was at that moment that I again asked myself, "Is this what I wanted?" Since my apprehension, nothing promising had transpired; nothing at all Bebop-esque. I was pretty sure that her gun wasn't going to shoot water instead of lead. I knew that old green hair here wasn't about to suddenly rise and declare that they should "Just let this one go." They were desperate people. The only way I was going to get out of this one was to get them some money. Or at least some food. Or, maybe a convenient combination of both. At this realization, my mind clicked.  
  
"Hey, Miss Valentine? You like spare ribs? And chili fries? I'm talking about the best chili fries in the freaking galaxy."  
  
She hesitated, then spoke. "What, tryin' to bribe me, buddy? A true lady never excepts a non-monetary bribe. It's principals. Morals, even. If you don't got a bounty that's at least three times more worth it than your head, then put your face back down on the pavement."  
  
'I should tell you, Faye...wait, can I call you Faye?" I could feel her gun barrel burrow deeper into my skull, silently proclaiming, "Nay."  
  
"Well, miss Valentine, I should tell you that I may be a lot of things, but one thing that I usually am not is a liar. I told you that I have a nice juicy bounty for you, and I am most definitely not lying. Just hear me out." I had decided that I was going to make the best out of this situation. And, yes, it is possible to see a happy ending somewhere on the horizon, even with a gun to your head and your face on the ground. And gum sticking to your shoe. 


	4. CH 4: Rock and Roll

Chapter 4: Rock and Roll  
  
Despite all the imputation  
You know you could just go out and dance  
to a rock 'n' roll station  
And it was alright, hey baby,  
You know it was alright  
  
I'd been closing my eyes for awhile. Things always seem just a tad better when your eyes are closed. And when I opened them again, I saw Mr. Jet Black standing over me, next to a heaping hulk of a fishing ship. This was the Bebop? I'm never watching Big Shot again. He was dressed in some sort of police issue riot gear suit with these huge bulks sticking out of his hip pockets. Strange. He had lit a nice fat cigar and just as I blinked up at him, a tiny bit of ash came cascading down onto my forehead. But he wasn't even looking at me. He was giving Faye the sort of look that, to a commonplace, non-bebopian like me seemed quite out of the ordinary, But I'd imagine it to be the sort of look he gives her at all hours of the day. It was an obvious, unspoken, "What the fuck, Faye. Damnit."  
  
"What, Jet? What's your problem?" Her arms were folded and her gun was out of sight. She still had my shades on.  
  
"Well, it looks like my problem here is about 14 or 15 years old. And it's lying down right in front of me. We already have one little kid on board, and I'm not exactly Doctor Suess here, god damnit."  
  
"Yeah," she said. "And I'm not Granny Goose either, but this boy is our bounty. 50 k. His name is Simon Morrison Cale."  
  
I decided to speak up. "I'm 18, that's not actually my real name, and I just told you that I'm not the bounty you guys really want. Just listen to me for a minute and I'll..."  
  
"Um, I think that's enough, kid. We got like an hour flight before we turn you in, and then we can get some decent groceries. So I think I've heard enough from you already." As Jet finished speaking, his eyes seemed to widen a bit, observing a small scene beginning to play out beside me on the ground. "Uh, Faye, I wouldn't do that."  
  
"Shut it, Jet, I know you won't give me one." She was kneeling over the astonishingly still passed out man who by this point I had decided was named Spike Spiegel. She reached down with her right hand towards his left pants pocket. With her index and middle fingers she slowly opened a pack of Marlboro Reds, and then, ever so gently, she began to pull one out...  
  
"Hey!" In an amazing flash that I would only expect to see in some Hollywood special effects blockbuster, he thrust his pelvis forward violently while his arms raised his body up from the ground. He kicked his daddy long legs up and before I knew it, he was flipping in the air. And he landed squarely on Faye Valentine. He took her down hard to the ground, but there really was no way that she was going to let go of that smoke. She yanked her Glock from some unseen region of her body and smacked him hard in the face with the handle. He fell back to the pavement like a piece of the moon striking the Earth. Within another blink, she had lit the cigarette up and took a nice big inhalation of nicotine. She then stood over Spike and blew a horrendously blatant cloud of smoke into his face.  
  
"Ya couldn't have just asked for one, right Faye? I just have to get a black eye out of it. You're lucky I'm hung over."  
  
"Ahhh, do you want mommy to make it better?" She blew another cloud into his mug. He just sort of shrugged and proclaimed, "Shrew."  
  
"Is the honeymoon almost over down there?" Jet observed. "Let's just get 'Simon Morrison Cale' or whoever the fuck he is onto the ship before someone recognizes me around here."  
  
"I already told you guys, I'm not worth it. I can get you a lot more than just fifty thousand. I'm serious." Now the three of them were standing over me. I gingerly stood up myself, brushing some dirt from my navy sports coat. "I can get you guys a decent meal and a huge bounty, maybe before morning time."  
  
More shrugs followed from the Bebop. I could tell that they were the types of people that don't naturally trust others easily. Well, at least that they were once those types of people. Now they were just sick of bothering with intuition.  
  
Eventually Jet took the foreground and prepared to speak. I had the feeling that he was usually the one to do so in these types of situations. Faye and Spike seemed like the most indecisive, fickle people in the galaxy. "How can we..." he hesitated, then dropped the butt of his cigar to the ground and casually stomped it out. "Never mind. We can't trust you at all. You're young and stupid."  
  
A glimmer caught my eye as I quite obviously motioned towards his consistently bickering partners. He noticed this and sighed. "You're right. But that's really no excuse. I try not to trust anybody any more. For all I know your bounty could be an error and maybe your picture was used by mistake. Maybe you aren't who we think you are, and you're really just a nice upstanding gentleman."  
  
"Exactly," I quipped, quite sure that he was finished.  
  
"Or maybe you killed some foreign dignitary and had your way with his wife and daughter. And that bounty on your head really has a couple more zeros on it. I don't know what to think. And I think I speak for my," he again glanced at Mr. Speigel and Miss Valentine, now randomly attempting to poke each other in the funny bone. "I speak for myself, then. I don't care anymore. Your bounty is 50k. How much is the bounty on whoever you are talking about?"  
  
I answered quickly but not too quickly as to assume that this was a previously determined thought, when in actuality it completely was. "Last time I checked it was over 200,000 and that was like last month. No one can find this guy so everyone has given up. But he's still out there and the bounty is rising."  
  
"Got a name?" Faye requested. Spike still wasn't paying attention. "Of course. Lukas Vance. Right here on Ganymede. He's running drugs for everybody and I know for a fact that he has permanently silenced more than a few witnesses and competitors. Probably some gang affiliation, as well."  
  
During the course of this, I had heard a faint whisper from Spike. He had said, in reaction too likely any of the crimes I was reviewing, "Hell, who hasn't?" No one heard this but me, because I'm quite sure that it was aimed solely for me to hear.  
  
Again, though no one was currently speaking, Faye spoke as if she were interrupting someone. She was so used to doing so, I deduced. "Alright, alright. We've heard this all before. You said there would be food involved? Chili fries?" At the mention of this, Spike ears seemed to perk up like a dog's. And although he'd never really let his comrades see such an action, I swear that a teenie tiny drip of drool fell from Jet's chapped lips, before he quickly but not so discretely wiped them with his large cybernetic forearm.  
  
"Mouth watering chili fries." I answered Jet's silent yearning.  
  
It took him a second to ponder all of this. All the mounds of salted, crispy French fries covered in melted cheeses and steaming, spicy chili that could possibly be his. And, in the manner of a great general about to decide his force's next strategic move, he declared, "We've never been a group that would turn down a free meal. If you can feed us, and if we're, naw, if I'm satisfied, maybe we'll go after your bounty. If I'm not or if you're lying or if this is a trap or if there's really an automatic submachine gun in your little guitar case there and you plan to blow us to bits, we'll either turn you in and collect our cash or launch you like a stone into the vast death of space."  
  
"And I'll be sure to put a bullet where it hurts kid, before u choke on the planetary atmosphere and your head explodes." Faye cheerily chimed in. She sounded like a helpless little girl with her dainty finger on a shotgun trigger. With the safety off. I was starting to like these guys a lot.  
  
I briskly lifted my guitar case and opened her up. Jet and Faye sort of winced silently in the horror that I really was about to blow them to bits. Spike sort of giggled. I pulled out my Mitchell acoustic and strummed a G chord. Then I looked up and smiled like a little boy. To these guys I was a little boy. "Then it's settled," Faye decided. "Feed me in at least 20 minutes and you might have a future as a free young man." "Jet gave her that look again, but Faye neglected to notice and frolicked off towards the Bebop.  
  
'Yeah Jet, let's give the kid a shot," Spike said, nearly breaking up in laughter as he did. That one nailed Jet's core, I knew it. Phrases like that get to everybody who isn't actually saying them at the time. Jet took off after Faye, not giving Spike even a glance. But I knew he agreed. That left Mister Green Hair and me. And my guitar.  
  
"Shitty little six string ya got there," he noticed.  
  
"Yeah well it's all I've got."  
  
A little bit of silence. He began to waddle off towards the mothership and I began to follow. Then I gulped and blurted out, "Are you really that hungry, sir? Why do you want to help me?" I sounded like a lost deer in headlights.  
  
"I'm only trying to help myself, and don't you forget that, Mr. Morrison Cale. Or should I say, Mr. Sterling John? Hey, why not Mr. Moe Tucker. Don't think you fooled me for a moment there. And I pretty much don't let nobody lead me into an unknown situation unless it's myself, but..." As he was looking for the end of his thought, I annoyingly suggested, "But what?"  
  
"But the Velvets fucking own, man. So I'm game."  
  
I smiled. "Cool. That's good to hear." Rock and roll. 


	5. CH 5: I Heard Her Call My Name

Chapter 5: I Heard Her Call My Name  
  
When I wake up in the morning, mama  
  
I heard her call my name  
I know she's dead and long far gone  
and I felt my mind split open  
  
It's funny, ya know. How the past always manages to catch up with you. How everything you do at every moment of your life will somehow have an impact that will inevitably you feel at some distant future moment. It's not an encouraging concept. But that's how life is. And then I heard it. I heard that melody.  
  
At first, it didn't affect me. I was a bit preoccupied, to tell you the truth. I was still attempting to grasp the awful truth of the situation. I had convinced these guys that I was not lying. Hell, maybe not exactly convinced. I'm sure they were entirely skeptical, but they had a right to be. And as I was walking into this monstrosity called The Bebop it was hard to keep it together. It was a junkyard bargain. It had to be. The next thing, they were going to tell me that this ship could actually fly. Or that it ever could have done so. But then I heard that melody again. I remember strumming away and listening for the words but then I would hear that melody. Everyone else would be singing "Old McDonald" or something, but she would be singing that melody. Completely oblivious to the activities of anyone else. There was only one word that I could use to describe such a phenomenon.  
  
Ed.  
  
"Suh...suh..."  
  
"Jesus, Ed, spit it out." Faye was standing over her, inquisitively.  
  
Ed looked right at me. She lifted her little goggle things. And she screamed.  
  
"SIMEY!" She leapt across the room like a mad beast and locked her body around my torso. She began to whisper something unintelligible into my left ear. Was this a hug or a strangling by a circus performer? This was Ed, pure and simple. "It's Simon, it's Simon, it's Suh Suh SAAAAAI- MUUUUUUUUUHN."  
  
Faye spoke again. All Spike and Jet could do was stare on in utter horror. "I guess you guys know each other?"  
  
Ed whipped her head towards her female companion. "Faye Faye this is Simon. Simon meet Faye Faye. Simon is the boy who played his geeetar for penguin lady so that she would feed him. Simon is goooood at the geeetar!" And with that Ed knocked my guitar case from my paw and spilled out its contents. In an instant she had it around her. "But not as goooood as Ed!" She began to violently pound the open strings with her fist as she screamed out her melody. All of this convinced Spike to light another cig. It was gonna be a long time till he ate again.  
  
Ed jumped from the ground to the sofa and had soon exited the scene, singing wildly as she and a healthy looking Welsh Corgi took off down some anonymous corridor. "Yeah, I know Ed. Another little job I had, this time on Earth. Worked at an orphanage or something like that. And needless to say, I met Ed there."  
  
"Sounds about right," sighed Spike as he fell down to the couch. Face first, right into a cushion. Hangover, remember? Faye shoved her moaning partner until there was room for her as well. She paused then made some sort of little noise and said "So buddy where are we eatin'. You got 15 minutes, by my watch."  
  
"It's a tiny diner called the Lost Star. Next to the old, abandoned suitcase factory on Montgomery. You know where I'm talkin' about?"  
  
"Yep." Despite my vague description, Jet's tone suggested that he knew exactly where I was talking about. As if he'd lived here for years. He casually strolled off towards what I would assume to be the "helm" of this junker. I stood there as Faye turned on the television and began to furiously change channels. No chance that she was even paying attention. She was thinking.  
  
"Hey Mr. Simon, I have an idea."  
  
"Um...alright."  
  
Her gaze intensified. "Whaddaya say we look up this Vance guy? I mean, to learn the details and such. It's our asses if things are off, ya know. And I'm pretty good at bein' able to tell when things are off."  
  
She was smiling now. She had to be onto me. Damnit. I knew this would happen. It was the only thing I wasn't able to handle. So now the ride was over, even though we had barely left the ground. Oh well, fun while it lasted.  
  
"There's no need, I know everything on this guy that could be known."  
  
"Eh, we'll see." She coyly exclaimed. "EEE...!"  
  
But before she could tack that D onto her yell, Ed had already barreled into the room. She was carrying my guitar, now featuring a busted E string, in one hand and a taptop computer in the other. "Wow, that's Tomato, huh. I'd never think you to be one to hang onto something for awhile, Ed. And it's been like 2 years."  
  
"Oh, Simey. Shut up now. Faye Faye, lookie lookie at the screen. Here's Lukas Vance...the prime minister of France." Faye leaned over and squinted her eyes. Lukas Vance was 6 feet tall and 205 pounds. A young guy, nice looks, too. Blond. The CEO of the "Blue Grand Royale Hotel Resort and Casino". His bounty was 375,000 woolongs.  
  
"Ok." She sighed and went back to her channel changing. She wasn't thinking anymore, though. I gave Ed a look of pure astonishment. She noticed this and somehow managed to leap onto my shoulders and whisper another message. This time I could understand.  
  
"I know Simon's in trouble again. There is no bounty on Lukas Vancey, huh? Oh well, Ed made it happen. Are you proud of Ed?" I glanced up and nodded appropriately. Ed was the outlaw hacker from Earth. I privately cursed myself for not realizing this all along. She instantly leaped from my head and bounded off again.  
  
As I gingerly placed my murdered instrument back into it's coffin of a case, I began to realize what I had just done. What we were doing. We were going to the Lost Star. Fuck. I was an asshole. Big time. What was I thinking. I hadn't even spoken to Veronica in months. I sent her some shitty letter attempting to make amends for what had happened. As if I could ever do that. Apologize. There was no possible way to do so. She probably looked at that return address first, even though it was a fake. Cale Lane or some bullshit. And she knew it was me and she tore that fucker up. She had every right to do so.  
  
And now I was gonna show up at her restaurant at like 5 am with these rejects and their massive reject mobile. I'd knock on the door and wake her up. She never used to sleep at all, and now I was gonna wake her up. And then carefully explain how she had no option but to feed these starving bandits. And of course I couldn't pay. I really was an asshole. I just hoped she had left her fry cooker on. Otherwise, I was most likely dead.  
  
"And oh yeah, Simon," Faye noted. "If you are really lying to us, and there's no grub at the end of this ride, you're dead. You're really fucking dead." Despite her cursing, she sounded a bit like a scolding schoolteacher. And she actually seemed completely serious. "So, do I make myself clear?"  
  
I didn't respond to that. Her tone had convinced me that my luck had run the hell out. I lied down on the cold steel floor while the channels clicked on and the ship neared its destination: my utter doom.  
  
And I felt my mind split open. 


	6. CH 6: After Hours

Chapter 6:  
After Hours  
  
If you close the door  
The night could last forever  
Leave the wineglass out  
And drink a toast to never  
  
Dear Veronica,  
I know it's been awhile since we spoke. I've been on the run. I don't know what to do or where to go. But I hardly expect you to feel sorry for me. Since I'll probably never see you again in this lifetime, I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry. I'm sorry for everything that has ever happened. You are a good person and you deserve so much better. You deserve Alex knocking on your door right now. The thing I'm most sorry for is the fact that he isn't coming back. Always remember that I loved him too, Ronnie. I was always looking out for what he wanted, for what he thought was the thing to do. He was my best friend. And it's my fault that he's gone. I completely acknowledge that. If only I had...never mind. It doesn't matter. It's all done with. I ruined everything. Please, Ronnie, work through this. Live every day of the rest of your life for him. No, for yourself. Be happy, somehow. I know that's always what he wanted the most.  
Adieu.  
  
I remember my Uncle Dave. He was always a weird sort of guy, but one thing he used to rant on about managed to stick with me. He used to swear to God above that he was being haunted. A ghost was haunting him wherever he went. He said it had something to do with a cat he ran over in his Honda Civic, or a snail he stepped on when he was a kid, or whatever else popped into his head. He moved around to apartment after apartment and never stayed at one for more than a month. He was a stressed out vagabond of a man, and all because he said he was being haunted.  
  
Well, I guess I am sort of haunted too. No. Not exactly. What I was doing was like digging up a grave in order for someone to start to haunt me. I was initiating it, and I knew quite well that my ghost did not want to be bothered. Especially by me. Veronica was a ghost from my past, even from a rather recent 6 months ago. So much had happened since then it felt like years had gone by. Life times. I was not the same person I was when I last saw the Lost Star, and I had no way of determining if Veronica was still the same as she had been. And for her sake, I hoped she was not.  
  
All I could do was knock. Behind me stood four incredible oddities of space and time and their lovable pooch. I looked up and observed the sign, a single, dimly illuminated star on a black backround. It was a wooden sign. The block was completely abandoned except for the this diner. One could sense the bulldozers approaching. Time was about to knock this whole city to the ground, and in the thick of it stood the Lost Star.  
  
And us. I knocked again. "Knock, knock, tick, tock...splick, splock!" Ed exclaimed. She was smiling throughout all of this. During our long walk from the nearby docks where the Bebop was parked, while the group followed me from a distance of about 10 feet, with Faye quite obviously keeping her hand on her Glock. I was kind of glad they didn't trust me, because trusting me was not a good idea.  
  
Veronica trusted me. And look what happened with that, I thought to myself. Spike, sort of nodding off behind me, kind of mumbled, "Let's go, boyo." Jet and Faye both grunted in agreement. I could feel their gaze on my back. Please Veronica, please answer the...  
  
"Hi." Veronica stood in front of me with the door swung open. I couldn't respond. I froze up. Despite all of my prior thought into this situation, I had never actually composed an opening line for this conversation. Then again, I never even fathomed the idea of her greeting me.  
  
"So who've you brought here at 4:30 AM, huh Simon?" She was speaking gently like she always had, but with a slight middle of the night slur and the distinct vitriol of someone who had just been woken from a deep sleep. "Um..."  
  
"We're friends of his," Faye joyfully laughed. "And he said this is the place to come for some damn good grub."  
  
"Well, I open up for lunch at about 2, so you might wanna stop by then."  
  
"Um, Veronica, can I talk to you for a sec?"  
  
"...Not really. But it's sort of cold out here, isn't it. Why don't you guys just come in. You can bring the dog, too. I gave up on the whole common decency of a dining atmosphere thing pretty long ago."  
  
And with that, she turned her back to me and entered her restaurant. It was only then that I realized that she was already dressed, likely from the past day. Her brown hair was still up, with only a few strands falling in front of her emerald eyes. Maybe she hadn't been sleeping, after all. She probably never does. The crew of the Bebop followed her. I contemplated taking off down the street, but instead swallowed my pride and shut the door, with me inside. I'm such an asshole.  
  
The Bebops had taken their places at a large table in the middle of the dining area. Veronica stood over them like a veteran prepared to take their orders. She pointed her gaze towards Faye. "So you guys are hungry, right? Ok. I'll see what was left over from earlier. Since I'm guessing that you guys aren't gonna be paying, I might as well give y'all something I was planning on throwing out anyway."  
  
Spike smiled. "As long as it hasn't been in that fridge for a year. Oh, and if it ain't seafood." At once, Faye and Jet recalled this earlier occurrence and simultaneously kicked Spike under the table. 'Not only did you hide food from us, but you nearly got us killed." Said Jet. Faye added, "And I haven't been able to close my eyes in the tub since then. And believe me, that's something Faye Valentine should always be able to do." Spike continued to smile. Veronica, slightly amused by the implications of such facts, turned her back and headed towards the kitchen. I took my cue and followed.  
  
"Listen, Ronnie, these guys were hungry. And they're going to help me. See, they're bounty hunters..."  
  
"Bounty hunters, huh? Well, it's nice to see that you're keeping yourself out of trouble these days, Simon. Just like old times."  
  
"They're bounty hunters and they're gonna help me go after Vance." Her face tightened up and her expression changed dramatically. She was attempting to tame some roaring lion that lived deep inside her.  
  
"God damnit, Simon. You've learned nothing. You thought you could fuck with Vance before, remember? You thought you and your "crew" was invincible. You thought that Alex was invincible. And now, Vance owns the most successful casino resort dealie in the fucking galaxy. I'm really glad you're about to go get yourself killed."  
  
"...And I'm still bringing others down with me, right? Please Veronica, listen to me. These guys are the crew of the Bebop. They are big players in the bounty world. If anyone can take down Vance, it's them."  
  
She paused before she began. "I've seen Big Shot Simon, I know about these guys. Don't try to kid me. And they of all people have to know that there is no bounty on Vance anyway. So why are they going to help you?"  
  
"C'mon Ronnie, you know me well enough. I always have something up my sleeve." She sort of smiled at distant memories of me saying things like that, until her brain arrived at the last time I had 'something up my sleeve.' "There's no need to remind me of that. Simon, you're an idiot. I sort of want to kick you all out of here right now. They'd probably turn you in or put a few bullets in you."  
  
"Yeah, they would."  
  
"But I don't want to do that, Simon. I don't want you to die too. Everything I knew is dead now. Long gone. Just tears on a pillow somewhere."  
  
"And it's all my fault." I whimpered. It really was.  
  
"No, it's not. You never controlled Alex or me. We made our own decisions. That's what I've come to realize. I'd always told myself that it was you all along, tantalizing us with your little wordplay and scheming. Always scheming, Simon. But it was never your fault. Are you still scheming, Simon?"  
  
"I don't know. For me, I guess it's like breathing. I'll scheme my way outta my own funeral."  
  
"Well, I'm glad at least something hasn't changed. Despite what you may think, your mind is what made you the best, Simon. That's why you survived."  
  
"Veronica, I...I..."  
  
"It's alright Sime. You said you were sorry in that letter and I forgave you. If you hadn't have come here tonight, err, this morning, I guess you never would have known that. Anyway, I'm glad you came. You are one ghost that I don't mind being haunted by." She smiled at me and turned towards the microwave to her right. "Now, to feed these minions of yours. And I bet you could use some, too."  
  
"Holy shit, Ronnie. You can read my mind."  
  
With that, I left her to run the kitchen while I tended to my newfound friends waiting outside. "Friends." Yeah right.  
  
"I guess you can put these beers on your tab," said Faye, clearly fighting to form speech through an alcoholic drawl. Jet interjected, "She's downed four since you went back there. Everything alright with the Misses?"  
  
"She ain't my girl, but yeah. Everything is OK." I never thought I'd say those words again. Jet and Spike were also nursing brews they had taken from the beverage cooler near the bar area. Ed hopped around the room, chanting "Dr. Pepper!" to herself while nearing the cooler. As she approached, she noticed a small picture frame carefully located on a windowsill.  
  
"Lookie lookie, it's Simey Simon." She flipped the picture onto the table and Spike took a hold of it. "It's you and the girl and some kid holding drumsticks. He's hugging her. Damn, the drummers always get the girl, don't they." He handed the picture to me.  
  
It was exactly what he said. The three of us, all happy and giddy and adrenaline riddled, back in the glory days. The grand opening of the Lost Star. I was holding my same aged acoustic, Veronica Svetlaya was proudly brandishing a spatula and sporting an apron, and with his arms wrapped tightly around her, grasping a pair of drumsticks in his fist, was Alexander Gilman, my best friend. 


End file.
